She sits beside clear waves, one hand
dipped in water, the other skipping stones. It's her,
steeped in wonder and fun. (Come back
across the calm water: please run
again and jump and point
out distant constellations, nearby suns
and sing those songs only you know.)
We met by the shore one morning
when all we could see were distant
reflections. We walked to
the water beating, like a drummer, at
the door. I watched her
skip pebbles on the ocean's drum
"I'm not ready to swim; it's dark and
deep, too deep." (Sweet girl, please come
home.) She strolled by the drumming
water most of her time, gathering
stones left out and returning them.
She would speak,
but the water never answered.
She laughed like summer. She danced.
"All I want is to watch
the ocean unroll and tap its shore;
I live on the music it gives me." Sweet girl,
what made you change your mind
and think it wasn't too dark
Come back home.
II For her Life: Tall, Red Roses
Steamy breath evening wraps a white
Day, burdened. Soft sung music spurts and faints,
Exhaling incense, in cut time,
Over the loud thump of rampant, tumbling hearts.
Three red rosebuds in a long stem vase
For a short life well lived: hers, happy.
Darkness touches the water.
Somewhere nearby, familiar songs are sung.
Footsteps keep pace, following
Rose peddles fallen to the ground.
The turbine lull of the ocean stops, rolls
Then halts again with you
Alight and rising in its blue, floating in
Time with the breathing lull. A gentle
Breeze stirs the pebbly water while
You pass in bright
Reflections of the waiting moon; the waves stop,
Lull, stop. The dusky breeze seems unwilling
To touch the earth, but tall palm
Trees wave, like ripples, in the wind;
Are they saying hello?
Her song floats over the ocean's drum.
Mourning doves call, like children,
Above the lapping water.